Page 40

“I…” This wasn’t either. Something hidden so deep down that I couldn’t even assemble the words.

“Stewart, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Because I’m right here. And we all make mistakes. Awful mistakes.”

“I used to think that’s all I was. A massive mistake.”

Where had that come from? And here were those bloody tears again.

“We were done with the crying, remember?” He tilted my face up with his fingers, somehow moving me to where he wanted me, my back now flush against the kitchen wall, trapped between the chair and him. Nowhere to escape.

“Constance had no concerns about seeing you. She hugged you and clung to you. You should have seen her face when she saw you.”

The things he said that made me well up.

“But I can’t help you—I can’t be here for you—if I don’t understand what you’re going through. And believe me, I want to be here for you.”

“Why?” It was a legitimate question, I felt. I didn’t understand why he took such an interest.

“Because…we’re on this journey together. Trying to be happy. I told you earlier.”

I had to laugh because I suddenly saw it, clearer than anything else.

“You’re as bad as me. At lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he claimed, but he took a defensive step back. I put my hands on his arms, held him in place, like he held me.

Balance. It was a delicate one, but one I needed. I smiled.

“You’re lying. Your eye twitches when you do.”

I loved how he laughed. A little embarrassed, combined with that look of being uncomfortable again.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be truthful, but you have to be as well. We’re not going to get anywhere here if we’re not.”

“Agreed.” I nodded vigorously. Was I a child? Probably. But I was, strangely, regaining my composure, emerging from this weird state I’d found myself in. Honesty, I hadn’t played that game for a long time, but I wanted to. I wanted to get all this out in the open. I wanted tomove on. I wanted so desperately to stop whining and start living. Fighting. Being happy. I had no idea how to, but I wanted it.

“So I asked you, and I’ll ask it again. What made the courts take away custody?”

Deep breath.

“I failed at my first suicide attempt when I was sixteen.”

I was surprised by how easily the words came out—and the lack of shock on his face.

It took a few breaths for him to say anything, but he stayed there, looking me straight in the eyes. Kindness. Something else that scared the life out of me.

“I gathered it was something like that.”

“I took a load of pills. My mother found me and had me carted off to hospital. We never told my father.”

He nodded. I wasn’t proud.

“Second time, at university. I was lucky. I was too drunk to stop myself from throwing up and just slept it off in a haze. I never told anyone.”

I had no idea why I was telling him now. But there was this urge in me, my body was reacting, like I wanted toretch, throw up the rest of the truth before I chickened out.

“Third time?” he asked, like he was asking for test results. Goals in a final.